As the tinkling of the bells died away, Bee stared at the bas-relief of the Kingdoms. Mountains and valleys. Forests and seas. All of it in intricate detail, which she knew could only have been created through magical means. She wondered, as she always had when taking the time, if there were little versions of the people following their lives in miniature, too small for her to see; wondered if a tiny little Bee sat in the map room atop the pile of horse dung she could see poking out of the Great Forest.

  Stop! she screamed inwardly. Ye’re just avoiding the issues, so y’are, she thought.

  “Do the alarms catch those leaving?” she asked as she climbed wearily to her feet.

  “Yes,” Whitehead said. “What are you intending?”

  Bee stared at the Commander of Sliabh Culinn. It seemed she was being obtuse for no possible reason. What she saw in Whitehead’s expression, though, was confusion; it appeared that the leader of Neit’s Maidens had no more idea than Bee about what was happening. She suddenly felt the warrior was her only ally in a plane that was stuffed full of enemies. At any other time, the irony would have made her laugh. Now, it just made her a little sad.

  Maybe it is hope. I need someone on me side, so I do.

  Shaking her head, she said, “I must go after them. There’s no choice.”

  “How? You’ve no idea where they went,” Fis scoffed, his long fingers still steepled under his chin. Staring at him, Bee noticed for the first time that a stubbly fuzz occupied the area above where his fingers came together.

  Dhuosnos forbid, he’s nothing but a boy. The thought put new light on Whitehead’s claim he was her advisor. The warrior was renowned for not taking any advice, let alone advice from someone hundreds of summers her junior.

  “Won’t the portal glyphs tell me where?” she asked.

  “I doubt he used them.”

  Of course, she suddenly remembered. He’s a Pathmaster. Sinking back into her chair, Bee put her head in her hands and stared morosely at the map.

  Finger following the ridge of her scar, she had a sudden idea. If she knew one thing about her brother, it was that he lacked courage. They said he was a fair witch, almost as powerful as she was, but no one claimed he was a brave man; not even Bren. The idea that he could spend moments under torture—let alone days—and not reveal his secrets was laughable. The claim that they cured him each evening so he could begin again the next morning was an evident lie. Probably, when he told Archu that he didn’t know where Lia Fáil was, he was not being brave but telling the truth. So, Bren must have continued the story that he knew the stone’s whereabouts. He was probably leading Dorn on a fox hunt while waiting for a chance to escape.

  “What do you know about this Dornalai?” she asked.

  “The Smith,” the warrior said, her eyes wide. “I thought everyone knew about Danu’s Three.”

  “Is he The Smith, though?”

  Rather than answer her, Whitehead glanced at Fis. There was much in that veiled look Bee found suspicious. It was as though the warrior was conspiring with her… her aide? Bee no more believed that than she believed Bren withstood days of torture. It didn’t ring true that a woman of her experience would turn to a boy for advice.

  She’s hiding something and thinks me too gullible to notice. No, not just Whitehead. They’re both hiding something.

  “I can understand your concerns,” Fis said. “He’s not… Um, how do I say it? Godly. He does not seem to be one of the Higher Tuatha.”

  “He can’t be, if he’s a Pathmaster,” Bee spoke her thoughts. The Pathmasters had been humans and not of the Fae. In fact, if the murmurs between roundhouses could be believed, it was Dagda who ordered them destroyed.

  “Why do you think he’s a Pathmaster?” Fis asked, his mouth turned down in scorn.

  If the brat keeps this up, I’ll have his magairlí for earrings, so I will.

  “I saw him open a wall with his fingers and lead us here through a miasma without hesitating. What else could he be?”

  “Did you, though, see him open the wall?” Whitehead asked.

  As Bee thought about the question, she realised she’d been in the cell, slumped against the wall, not watching Dorn. “How else did he get through a wall? That secret died with the sect, I thought.”

  Again, Whitehead and her aide exchanged glances. Bee considered telling them she wasn’t as blind as they seemed to think, but decided it would appear petty, so she kept her peace. Eventually, Fis cleared his throat and said, “After destroying the Pathmasters, Dagda realised there was a hole in his… um, assets, I suppose, there’s no better way to describe them.” The false aide looked up to ensure Bee was following. His arrogance was starting to stoke her temper. Keeping control somehow, she gave a curt nod for him to carry on. “To fill the hole, he ordered Danu’s Three to create tools so he could travel the paths freely, from wherever he chose. Together, they forged the dagger and the compass: one to cut and one to guide, but they told Dagda they were unsuccessful—”

  “All this that’s going on is Danu’s Three?” Bee interrupted.

  “Yes, Danu’s Three are to blame,” Whitehead said, darting another look at fuzzy chin.

  “It seems a push,” Bee continued, without much conviction, because now the dream on the plains made some sense. Credne told her to follow The Smith because they were allied in a coup to wrench control of the Fae Realm away from the rightful sovereigns.

  “I know it is difficult to accept, but I can think of no better explanation,” Whitehead said.

  “Why have ye been suspicious of Goibniu?”

  “When he first came, he was keen to help solve issues with the kingdoms. He set himself up as a ring fighter and infiltrated those who usurped Middle Kingdom’s throne. He took punishment to aid in creating a feasible story, and set about helping Tadg mac Cein at first, and then his son Ruirech. He did everything to convince me of what he said when he first arrived. Now, I suspect he was waiting for a chance.”

  “And Archu’s possessing the mad druid at the same time as Lia Fail’s whereabouts becoming known was the ideal moment,” Bee mused. “What of Credne and Luchta?”

  The question caused the conspirators to hesitate momentarily, once more exchanging what they thought were hidden looks. Eventually, Whitehead said, “Why do you ask that? What bearing does it have on what’s happening?”

  “I thought where there’s one, the other two are sure to be.”

  “Possible, I suppose,” Whitehead said, staring at the map and refusing to meet Bee’s eye. Fis was staring at her over his steepled fingers.

  Is that a smirk? “And ye think my brother knows where the stone is?”

  “We do,” they said together.

  Bren has no idea where the stone is, Bee wanted to scream, but instead she started to rub her scar, before realising it might be seen as a tic and stopped. Dornalai doesn’t know how little Bren knows, and these two don’t know that. And maybe I should keep it that way.

  The other thing she would keep to herself was what nagged at Bee more than anything. Why did Goibniu bring them here? He could have taken them to any portal, not just in the Kingdoms, but anywhere. Why would he bring Bee to safety and then flee with her brother? Looking across the table, she could think of only one thing that might have changed his mind.

  “How long have ye been here?” she asked Fis.

  “Why?”

  “I was just curious about how long it took ye to make the portal alarm.”

  Bee’s words caused the boy’s face to light up with glee. He was very proud of his work, it seemed. “No time at all. It was a trifle.”

  “Ye’re being modest. It must have taken great skill.”

  “Enough,” Whitehead interjected. “We must decide what is to be done.”

  “I’ll tell ye what I won’t be doing any time soon, Bairr, is believing ye. The pair of ye take me for a fool.” Her words made an already tense atmosphere gelid. Bee was surprised their breath wasn’t steaming.

  Eventually, Whitehead said, “Tell her.”

  “Well,” Bee prompted.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Steepling his fingers under his fuzzy chin, Fis said, “All in the proper order, I think. To tell this tale in a way that is clear, needs an understanding of who we are. I am Credne. Despite your certainty to the contrary, Dornalai is Goibniu. Luchta is somewhere in the Kingdoms, although we do not know where.”

  Credne! Of course. Things were starting to take on a substance that she could understand.

  The Higher Tuatha sat there, fingers steepled, expression of concentration on his youthful face, telling Bee a similar story to what Dornalai had told her, but on this occasion, she did not doubt that Danu’s Three, Higher Tuatha gods, were in the Kingdoms.

  “Sorry, can ye repeat that?” she said, as she caught Fis looking at her askance.

  “I said we kept it from you because we couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t run straight to Dagda—”

  “So, why shouldn’t I go to my Master with this?”

  Fis hesitated, regarding her with his intense eyes. Finally, he said, “What I told you about the dagger and the compass was true, apart from one small detail. We made four sets: one for Dagda and one for each of us. Somehow, Danu got to hear about the set for the Chief and ordered us not to give it to him. You will admit that your liege is prone to bouts of forgetfulness, and Danu was afraid he would leave them lying around for someone to steal. She begged us to destroy it, which we did in her presence. However, we never told her of the other three sets—”

  “Why?” Bee asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice. She thought she had a pretty good idea of what the story was leading to, and it made her uncomfortable.

  The God shrugged and stared at his fingers. She could see shame in his stance and was quite sure it was feigned. The arrogant specimen sitting before her would never feel shame in anything he did.

  “And now someone has stolen a set,” Bee finished for the God.

  “Only now, someone has stolen a set,” Fis agreed, staring at her intently over his fingers. “We do not know who. It must be one of the Higher Tuatha, which leaves many suspects.”

  “Why one of the other Gods?” Bee asked.

  “No other being could have broken the wards protecting the safe, which Goibniu created, magically sealed by Luchta, and hidden in his mound.”

  Bee glowered at the God, wondering about the arrogance of the brothers, who believed their power surpassed that of any other God, despite the evidence of their current crisis.

  And then another thought came to her. “Why is the recovery of one set so important? Ye’ve two more, if I can count.”

  Fis took several moments to answer, and when he did, Bee felt stress rolling off the God in palpable waves. What he was telling her was scaring him beyond anything she would have thought possible.

  “Dagda was not being petty when he ordered the Pathmasters hunted and destroyed…” he started before hesitating.

  This I have to hear, Bee thought. What excuse could there be for mass murder?

  Clearing his throat, Fis continued, “The Pathmasters were a human sect. Their… I will call him a shaman for want of a proper title… created an instrument capable of tearing a way into the Void. His discovery was accidental. This shaman was trying to create precious metals from base metals. He created a—although not exactly a dagger—it was dagger-like, and they say he was swinging it when he cut a hole. Upon discovering what lay beyond, this man, Trismegistus, created a sect, or more accurately, a group of adventurers, and sent each of them to explore The Paths, as he called them. They had no compass and so stumbled from portal to portal, discovering new worlds. However, the alchemist created some sort of homing device. Once the Pathmasters found a portal and discovered what lay beyond, they would return and report it to their shaman. Trismegistus expanded his map of The Paths as each explorer returned.”

  Fis went on to explain how one of the adventurers stumbled upon the Fae Realm. At first, the Tuatha welcomed the adventurer as a curiosity. However, more and more arrived, and as the Tuatha got to know the humans, they realised their potential for violence. Bee didn’t say that the Tuatha recognising a potential for violence in another species was like the sea recognising that the sky was blue.

  “Dagda ordered these so-called Pathmasters watched, and so it was that Lugh discovered Trismegistus plotting to bring an army into our lands to throw us down.”

  “Why didn’t the Chief just close the portals into the Fae Realm?” Bee scoffed.

  Fis shook his head and frowned. “There is something about the Void that prevents magic from being performed within. It is possible to ward portals from the outside, preventing entry, but not from within, preventing exit.”

  “Why not some sort of field on the outside that stops invaders from crossing the threshold?” Bee suggested.

  “Although such magic is possible, it would not last indefinitely. Invaders would break through. No. By ordering Lugh to destroy them, the Chief chose the right course.”

  And then he ordered the powerful dagger recreated for his own ends, Bee hissed to herself, surprised at her lord’s lack of insight. Such a demand could only lead to trouble. But worse, Danu’s Three compounded the problem by creating more daggers and compasses than they should have.

  “What happened to the dagger the alchemist created?” she voiced a sudden thought.

  “It was a poor thing, and Lugh was a little zealous in following Dagda’s orders. He destroyed all the Pathmasters, the shaman, and the dagger.”

  “None of which explains what’s going on,” Bee said.

  “None of which explains what is happening,” Fis agreed, but said nothing for several moments. Eventually, he continued. “My brothers and I were playing fidchell recently when we all three felt a wrench, like something was trying to drag us down to Tech Duinn. It was simultaneous and accompanied by a pain I had not felt before. Goibniu and Luchta were in as much pain as me, which showed in their expressions. It could only have been one thing, and we went to each mound before discovering my set was missing. The thief had smashed the safe, and our suffering could only have been from when they broke the wards.”

  There’s something wrong with that statement, Bee thought, but lost the idea when Fis continued his story.

  “After a short consultation, we agreed that we had to tell Danu what we had done. As is the Mother’s way, rather than lay blame, she began to devise ways to recover the lost tools. Apparently, Myrddin had been on her mind a lot of late. He was around the Point of Death doing something that did not make much sense, and Danu thought he might be in league with whomever stole the dagger and compass—”

  “That’s some leap,” Bee interrupted.

  “It’s not as much of a leap as you think. The theft of the tools indicates a coup is happening. There’s no other reason to steal them. And the only way to finish a coup is to invade our realm and murder our sovereigns. Danu believes that whoever stole the dagger and the compass intends to release Dhuosnos and his Demon Horde from Tech Duinn and send them through the Void to the Realm. Myrddin’s being in the arena where Archu could possess him is too coincidental for him not to be involved.” Bee nodded. She could think of a multitude of explanations that didn’t involve a treacherous druid but saw no point in arguing. If she had learned one thing about Danu’s Three, it was the depth of their arrogance. And Danu herself was renowned for her scheming.

  “We defeat the demons during the scourges. Why are they such a threat now?”

  “Come now, Bee. There’s no way we can know which of the Higher Tuatha are involved, nor who they are. There is at least one and probably more. With the Lord of Darkness and whichever of the Gods leading them, the horde will not be so easily cowed.”

  Bee nodded her understanding. “So, say I believe ye. What I don’t get is what Bren is doing here?”

  “Danu thought if he met Myrddin with a claim about Lia Fail, it would flush out the thief. Myrddin would be sure to report the news. The thief would not be able to resist Lia Fail, because it would provide the power needed to open a bridge.”

  “Ye’re telling me that ye’ve staked Bren out as the goat for the wolfpack. Ye’re going to get him killed, so ye are.”

  “We need to know who is behind the theft of the dagger and the compass,” Bee thought aloud.

  Fis took it as a question for him and repeated the earlier claim, which she didn’t believe. “We have no idea. Whoever it is, we brothers are more than enough.”

  Ye just admitted the opposite. Arrogance and scheming for no reason, she amended her earlier revelation on their character.

  “And Goibniu crushed the guards in the guardhouse when I found them,” she mused, giving herself time to think through what the God was telling her. It seemed to Bee that Fis was proving his reputation as an expert at weaving complex tales. Despite his reputation, there was something that didn’t fit. The more she thought about it, the more elusive it became. She did not doubt that The Silversmith was very good at clouding an issue with complexity. But it was about more than that.

  “Why did the Chief send me after my brother?”

  “Shortly after Bren went through the portal, there was a great surge of power at Breshlech. At the time, no one knew what had caused it. In hindsight, we knew it was the demon raising the dead. Anyway, Dagda felt it, as did Danu, and he came to consult with the Mother. She told him not to worry, that Myrddin was up to mischief, and she’d sent Bren as an envoy.”

  “And rather than take her at her word, he sent me. To do what, exactly.”

  Fis shrugged. “The same thing has been on our minds,” he said. “Why are you here?”

  “Where does Finn the tracker come in?”

  The God shrugged again and Bee wondered if it was a tic revealing a lie, or a half truth. “I was not aware Finn was even here. What happened?”

  “Yer brother knocked his brains out the other side of the Fiery Mountain.”

  ”Really,” the God said. Bee saw something fleeting in his expression. It might have been shock but for what reason?

  “Why didn’t Goibniu question him, instead of knocking his brains out?” This time an expression of anger crossed the God’s face. He hates my questions. Bee felt a little jolt of satisfaction that she could get a rise from him.

  “I cannot know my brother’s reasoning. However, not questioning Finn was probably because of the nature of the tracker’s mission. I doubt if he had any idea who had ordered him to do it. He could have told Goibniu little. Does that satisfy you?”

  Bee wanted to say that nothing Fis said satisfied her. Most things he told her didn’t make much sense. The rest didn’t make any sense at all.

  “What are our brothers doing now?” Bee asked.

  “Pretending to search for the stone in the hope it will bring out the thief.”

  “I don’t think it will, so I don’t. I’m not even sure this thief exists, so I’m going to go to the rebel, Ruirech. I think ye, Whitehead, need to take Breshlech and force the demon back to where it belongs.”

  “I’ll need Dagda’s approval to mobilise the Maidens,” The Whitehead said.

  “Do ye not have the authority?” Bee asked, tilting her head and putting as much sarcasm in her tone as she could muster.

  “Why are you going to Ruirech?” the warrior asked, ignoring the jibe.

  “Goibniu said he knew the rebel from a young age,” she said.

  “Aye. He did.”

  “I guess Ruirech might have some idea about where he’s gone.”

  “Perhaps, but it would surprise me.”

  Bee nodded because it would surprise her, too. She had to start somewhere, and somewhere close seemed a good place.

  “I am coming with you,” Fis said, unsteepling his fingers for the first time. Bee shook her head emphatically. The last thing she wanted, or indeed, needed was the company of some arrogant God with hair on his face that looked like he’d stolen from a pig’s arse.

  “I don’t really care whether I have your permission, Bechuille. I am coming.”

  Bee frowned at the tone.

  “Ye’ll have to track me, because I don’t want—”

  “I can see no other choice, Bee,” Whitehead interrupted. Bee raised her eyebrows in question. “I can order it, Bechuille. But do you not think having a God with you is safer?”

  “I’ll tell ye what I think, Bairr. If we don’t find Brenos and Goibniu, having one God or other for company won’t make the width of a donkey’s eyelash of a difference.”